Hors d'oeuvres
by Sky-Pirate-Tat
Summary: A collection of one shots centering on Bridget. Written for 20 foods.
1. I dont' want to fight

_Disclaimer: I will only say this once. I do not own Guilty Gear or it's characters. Likewise I don't own any of Shakespeare's works._

_**A/N: This is a collection of Bridget centered fics, written for the 20foods challenge on livejournal. I hope they are enjoyed as much as I loved writing them! Updates will be every week. Twice a week if one of the fics is too short.**_

Theme: I don't want to fight

Food: Bread

He knew about her madness for keys. It was obvious from the picture in the wanted poster. They were everywhere, from her seven-foot-tall weapon to the hair decoration that appeared to pierce through her skull.

The bounty hunter briefly wondered why she was obsessed with the object, but then he realized her compulsion would make an easy lure. He began to put himself in her shoes, keeping an eye out for keys loitering around. He picked up each and every one he found, and when that wasn't enough he bought cheap key-and-padlock sets. He almost threw the padlocks away and then shook his head, considering that if there was a bounty obsessed with keys there was a high probability there was someone who felt the same for padlocks.

When he was satisfied with his lures, he began to ask merchants and fellow travelers about the woman. For as much money as she was worth, not many had even heard of or seen her. It took a month and a half before one man passing through the country had any information.

"When I was in Belgium a week ago, that young lady robbed the locksmith. Of all things, she only stole the keys..."

Lucky for Bridget, Belgium was only a three-hour ride from where he was at the time. As soon as he heard the news, he hopped a train, and he also came to realize his change purse was significantly lighter.

Upon arriving to Belgium, he bought food for his stay, then set out for the outskirts of Belgium, moving towards the forest. There, he set one of the many keys he collected on the poorly-cobbled path. A few feet away from that, he set another and so forth. It was like the trail of bread crumbs Hanzel and Gretel left to find their way back, only Bridget's hopes were that the keys would lead her to him instead of leading him home, bounty-less.

He set up camp near the last key. He was thankful that he was near an abandoned shack. He didn't know what he would do if he had to make shelter out of his surroundings.

The shack was rusty and shook as he opened the door, as if it would collapse in on itself if he dared shut the door. He breathed in and coughed, then sneezed. The action caused the dust littering about to raise up and curtain the air. Faint light from the cracked ceiling illuminated the spider webs. Even though he had a shelter already made, he would have to work at it to make it suitable to live in.

He returned with long branches to swat the spiderwebs, and also in his arsenal was a towel reserved for bathing (except for this moment). He ran the cloth wherever he could reach. During the first round of cleaning he had a coughing fit from the dust, but as he worked away the grimem his coughs were replaced by whistles and humming. By the time he finished cleaning it was night and though he was tired he took the time to devise an alarm system.

He took a long thread of fishing wire and tied it to the remaining key. On the other end, he tied a set of bells and pots and pans that he had found abandoned in the shack. He tied that end of the string to the large oak as a finishing touch.

OOo

Waiting was the boring part. He spent countless days reading the huge book of Shakespeare's plays that he had brought with him, then spent another set of days reading it. Bridget began to worry that his plan wasn't working at all. He began to stare out of the window less and was less reluctant to leave the shack for food and water and bathing. He also spoke to Roger more frequently; unfortunately teddy bears were not great conversationalists.

After a while, he found a routine: he practiced fighting in the mornings, careful not to get out of practice. During the afternoon he entertained himself by practicing lines from Hamlet.

"Though this be madness--"

He quieted, still and unsure if what he had just heard was real or just wishful thinking.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

He set the book down and peeped out the window, half expecting it to be a bear or other animal. Blue eyes widened in delight. He scrambled together his yoyos and Roger, then jetted out the door.

"Miss. A.B.A., is it? If you would just hand over..."

Bridget's words trailed off; she hadn't even noticed him. She was too preoccupied with getting the key (which was double-knotted to the tree branch).

A.B.A. gave a few forceful tugs at the branch, muttering incoherently. She stared at the key, the tree holding it prison, then closed her hand around the prized object tightly and pulled with all her might. The tree branch snapped and toppled over Paracelsus, knocking him down. A.B.A. turned to him and proptly set her boyfriend upright

"Excuse me..." Bridget called again.

The redhead stiffly turned her head to the blonde and stared apathetically. Bridget cautiously stepped forward.

"If you would come back with me I won't hurt you."

A. B. A.'s eyes widened and she clung to Paracelsus, backing away.

"Ah. I don't intend to hurt you, don't be afraid. Please."

His voice only drove her further away. Her shoulder raised and head lowered defensively, but her eyes locked onto his.

"Why?" she said quietly. "Why do you want me to come with you?" Her words were jagged and slow.

"There's a bounty on you, Miss. A.B.A."

"Bounty." She tasted the word on her lips, as if she never heard it before.

"Please, make your decision quickly," Bridget pressed. "If you will not surrender I will use force."

A.B.A. watched him blankly, then walked off. The tree branch still attached to the key dragged in the dirt.

"Weird..." Bridget concluded. "Very well, here I come!"

He ran after her. When he reached a yard's length, he jumped in the air and lashed his yoyo out. The attack was blocked by Paracelsus's head. A.B.A. cautiously peered from behind her weapon. Her eyes were wide and sullen, carrying an innocent despair. Bridget raised his weapon. She shifted, legs spread out, holding her ground and her lover close.

The yo yo swerved towards her. She dodged, and then raised Paracelsus up and spun on the balls of her feet. The hit felt like a whole brick house on impact, and sent her pursuer high in the air.

Bridget snapped out of his brief bout of unconsciousness and regained his balance as he made his descent. His legs trembled, still in shock over the blow dealt. He held his stance, expecting more, but only saw the trail of the tree limb. Bridget followed the marks, weapon at the ready, and walked on tiptoe, careful of fallen branches. When he found her, back turned, he dispatched one of his yoyos and then charged at her again. She responded just as before, (as he had expected) and in one quick motion landed atop her weapon and then leaped backwards, throwing an attack along the way. She fell back and he pulled her forward, using his spare yoyo.

She and Paracelsus fell in a heap. The force of the fall gave rise to dust and the birds quieted. A minute passed as slowly, triumphantly, Bridget approached. He leaned forward and tilted his head. He grew rigid. His nerves tingled and there was a dead weight pulling his insides. Suddenly his victory was replaced with unease.

The redheaded woman before him raised her head mechanically, glaring needles. She stiffly ros. Dirt splotched her bloodied bandages and face. Before she had looked like a hospital patient runaway. Now her appearance was that of the undead.

She gruffly pulled out a packet of blood and threw it in Paracelsus's eager mouth. A wide grin replaced her dreary features and Paracelsus turned a deep mahogany color, his blunt round face now the head of a ram, its eyes clouded rubies.

She made her move, raising Paracelsus with such speed that Bridget could barely react defensively.

To think, this woman was dragging her weapon, and now she was running, striking profusely without a hint of exhaustion. She was berserk and she was winning. For each block Bridget managed, she countered with a harder hit, literally wearing him down.

He flinched under the shadow of her attack, expecting death. And then, he felt nothing but the sun on his bruised shoulders. He opened one eye warily, then blinked, his face inches away from A.B.A.'s. Her eyes were drawn to his chest and without reservation she rummaged under his shirt collar.

"H-- hey." Bridget flushed, holding an arm over his chest.

From under his clothes, she retrieved a small trinket. The gold flashed under the sunlight.

"That's my house key. Give it back."

But she wasn't listening, mesmerized by the sheen, a brightness rivaling Paracelsus. Nothing in her collection was as ornately made as this key.

She pulled at the large bag she had been carrying. Bridget had a feeling about its contents.

She dumped the bag out, creating a mound of keys, and to Bridget's surprise, money.

"I thought you only collected keys."

"For food," she simply replied, and then began to separate the keys and cash. She threw her prized possessions back in the bag, but left the money on the ground. When she finished, she walked off nonchalantly dragging her lover and her bag.

Bridget achingly sat up and prodded at the money.

"I guess she wanted more room for her collection..."

He counted the neglected money and gaped. The sum was more than her bounty was worth.


	2. Mix Up

Theme: Mix Up

Food: Cookies

"Hmm. . . it's almost April Fools." His brother tapped his lip, contemplating before the calender. There were three days left in March that remained uncrossed.

"It sounds like you haven't come up with anything yet." Bridget said.

"Yeah." His brother's laugh was tinted with a sigh. He took wide steps from the calender, then plopped on the couch. His fingertips grazed the red velvet absently, lost in thought.

A servant set a plate of snicker doodles on the coffee table, her cheeks dimpled, a sly smile on her lips. "Young Master, I couldn't help but overhear. If I may, I have a suggestion."

He raised a brow, curious.

"I'm sure if you and lady-" The woman's voice hitched under the glare the younger sibling shot. "-Bridget switched clothes it would create quite a stir."

The eldest brother's lip puckered out, eyes to the ceiling, as if something was written there to persuade his decision. "You know, I'm not thrilled about wearing frilly dresses but that sounds like a great idea!"

"I'm happy I could help." She chuckled.

"What do you think?" He turned to Bridget, who was quietly watching them talk as he nibbled on a snicker doodle. "It sounds fun." He said, laughter brimmed from his voice but inwardly he was quiet, almost solemn. "But don't you think mom and dad would be furious?"

"Furious about their son wearing women's clothes?" He shrugged.

"Well, mother won't even let me wear pants." Bridget's brows knitted, his blue eyes evaded his brother's, hiding. "Sorry, but I'm afraid I cannot be a part of your shannengins this year." Bridget half (empty) smiled and after smoothing the front of his dress left the room.

i Honestly, I wanted to do it too. I want to know what it's like to wear men's attire but. . . I can't risk it. I'm sorry./i

"Bridget! Come on! Can't you think about it for just a sec?"

"Nope." His voice resonated from the other room.

Bridget's brother rolled his eyes and drew out an exasperated sigh. "She's so stubborn."


	3. Kiss

Theme: Kiss

Food: Cake

He doesn't quite remember his first kiss. He recalls being ten and pushed against the oak tree by Tom. The middle is a blank, then the end is vivid. He hears feet peddling through the grass and his brother shouting, "What the hell are you doing to my sister?!" Then Tom is grabbed by the collar of his shirt, away from Bridget, and then Tom is swung around, and given a huge wallop in the teeth.

Tom's mouth is drizzling red-- it looks like the red velvet cake batter Mom made that morning.

Most clear in his mind are the kisses after that. He's not interested in men, but he wants to kiss like one. While the other is fully entrenched in him, he is soaking their techniques like a sponge. He remembers that men kiss hard and gentle, that their large hands grasp with childish need.

The woman before him now closes her eyes expectantly. He leans forward and the curtain falls.


	4. Possible

Theme: Possible

Food: Ice cream

"If I'm going to be a bounty hunter, I need a weapon." Bridget said as an afterthought. "But how am I supposed to get a sword-- or hide it from mom and dad?"

Absently he played with his yoyo, thinking about his weapon of choice. A knock dragged him from his thoughts. "Come in."

The door creaked open and his brother entered the room, then backed away, eyeing the yoyo.

"Eh?" Bridget followed his brother's gaze, then laughed uneasily. "I'll put it away." He tucked it in the lacy pillow case. Only then did his brother venture deeper in his room.

Bridget wondered how long it had been. Six years ago was when his brother's fear of yoyos, started as well as Bridget's love for the classic toy. Their parents gave them each a yoyo. Bridget's red, his brother's was blue.

The eldest was instantly put off by the toy, unable to bring it back up, or in most cases, ended up with fingers tangled up in string. In his disdain, he looked to Bridget, hoping it wasn't just him, only to be thoroughly jealous.

Two months after their gift they were at a carnival, waiting in line. Bridget was passing the boredom away with his yoyo. His brother seethed as he loop-de-looped, rocked the cradle, and then--

"Ow!"

"I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

--went around the world.

Bridget's brother had told him he clearly remembered the first time it happened because, Bridget had run off and came back with a green popsicle and pressed it against his forehead.

It continued to happen over the years: sixteen times Bridget estimated, one hundred times his brother claimed. The accidents persisted until his brother refused to be in the same room with Bridget and a yoyo.

Bridget blinked, snapping out of his reminiscing thoughts. "Sorry! I have to do something!" He brushed past the other boy and ran down the stairs before he forgot the idea.

The following day, his brother discovered Bridget in the backyard, swinging the yoyo at a row of cans like one does practicing with a gun. He moved along, even if he wanted to ask.


	5. Pretty

Theme: Pretty

Food: Peach

_The allure of a bathing woman is that she is completely uninhibited, yet vulnerable._

Johnny smirked from behind the thrush. He was shaking from excitement, but kept his body rigid as possible, careful not to spook her. The last thing he wanted was to scare her into grabbing her clothes and fluttering off like a dove. The first thing he wanted was to run his fingers across the soft peach skin, supple and damp with morning dew. To brush honey blonde strands behind her delicate ear and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Her legs, half-submerged in the crystal lake, were long, and her calves muscular, yet they retained a certain delicacy. Likewise, her arms had a bit of muscle tone and her shoulders were wider than most girls', but she was feminine all the same.

Johnny was trembling enough to shake the bushes and make the girl turn around.

"Is someone there?"

It was the moment Johnny had been waiting for-- to see her front. However, his grin cracked as he gazed downwards. "I've been tricked-- again." He managed to mutter before fainting.


	6. Fleeting Thoughts

Theme: Fleeting thoughts

Food: Noodles

He is all tactics and tricks. Just as he uses his yoyo to manipulate, he manipulates those he encounters, though without even trying. He distracts them with his firm calves and slender arms, his petite waist. If the person fighting him isn't a man deterred by his feminine appearance, it's a woman jealous that he plays the role better than herself. His opponents think strategies, but their strategies slowly flitter to other thoughts; those thoughts are tossed asunder by the yoyo strings wrapping around them and tightening. The string is thin and fragile-looking, like noodles, but upon trying the bounds they feel like hand cuffs.


	7. Run

A/N: One of my favorites. Might seem disturbing to some since it includes Faust. XD

Theme: Run

Food: Sausage

"Dr. Faust, correct?"

"Indeed! It is I! Ah!"

The tall man leaned forward, examining the petite boy with the single eye poking from the paper bag.

"I can sense you need treatment."

"Yes. That's why I'm here, Mister Doctor."

Bridget smiled nervously. "Um, may I ask why you have a paper bag over your head?"

"Who knows?" The man said casually, nearly blankly. "In any case, what is the problem, young one?"

"You see Mister Doctor, my er... 'thing' hurts and it's kind of red like a rash."

"I believe I know what the ailment is. If you will just change into the dressing gown."

He pointed at a paper-thin garment hanging on the curtain rod. Bridget nodded and Dr. Faust turned around as the boy changed.

"All done," Bridget called.

Dr. Faust crept forward with an eerie air, holding up his stethescope as if it were a weapon. The instrument descended on Bridget's chest. He shivered, toes curling.

"It's cold."

The doctor didn't respond, concentrating on the blonde's heartbeat. He methodically pulled the instrument from the boy's chest, and moved it to his backside. "Breath in."

A deep breath.

"Breathe out."

Bridget exhaled, then gaped. Dr. Faust was leaning over him, peering under the dressing gown, particularly at Bridget's nether regions. The doctor, sensing his unease, assured him he was looking at the area as a doctor-- not as a mere man. Not that he was a mere man anyway, he laughed.

"Oh dear."

He looked up, then back under the gown.

"What is it, Doctor?" Bridget unconsciously crossed his legs, embarrassed.

"It's much worse than I thought." With a flick of his enormous hands, Dr. Faust brandished a gigantic scalpel. "I'm afraid I will have to operate."

Bridget's eyes bulged out, realizing where the huge medical instrument was heading. With the reflexes of a man afraid for his manhood, Bridget high-tailed it out of the office and then crawled through the tall grass. His breath caught and his pace quickened, hearing someone running in the thrush behind him. He dared to turn around and regretted that. The doctor was on all fours, his legs moving with insect-like grace and immense speed.

"You cannot resist medical treatment."

Bridget screamed in reply and ran faster than his lungs could breathe. He whirled around from the meadow to the city streets, coughing on the way. He was growing dizzy, but knowing he was still being pursued kept him going. Bridget ran, ran, ran, until his legs buckled under his weight and he was sprawled on the ground, shaking. A tall shadow fell over him and the boy curled up in a ball with what little strength he had left.

"I-- I'm just a guy who dresses like a girl. It's a long story but please, unders... You're wrong. I'm not a girl with a boy's thing attached... see? It belongs there so please don't cut off my... uh, sausage... er, my thing..."

The taller man silently pressed a needle into the boy's forearm, silencing him into a deep sleep.

Dr. Faust took the large scalpel from his mouth and held it out with such zest that it gave the impression that underneath the paper bag he was grinning.

Bridget blinked back to consciousness. He stared groggily at the face close to his for a moment, and then, realizing who it was, he jumped. His eyes crossed in worry, realizing the operation had gone through despite his efforts to escape. Bridget swallowed hard and looked at his body curtained by a soft hospital blanket.

"Good news! The operation was a success!"

"That's what I was afraid of..."

Bridget was close to crying. He gripped the covers, and before he could think twice about it he threw them off and came face to face with the operation's results.

"You..." Tears of relief were falling on his cheeks. "You didn't cut it off after all, Mister Doctor."

"Of course not. It was only a circumcision!" Dr. Faust pointed his finger like a handgun. This time he appeared to be winking.

"Contact me again if you are still having problems. And here--

He pulled a lollipop from his lab coat and handed it to the blonde.

Bridget hesitantly took the candy, thoroughly confused by the man's nature. "How much do I owe you, Mister Doctor Faust?"

"No charge!" Dr. Faust exclaimed, and whipped out an umbrella. The wind blew, lifting him high into the air, ala Mary Poppins.

"He's scary... but kind," Bridget said to himself,watching the dot in the sky float away and licked the lolipop.


	8. Lights! Camera! Action!

Theme: Lights! Camera! Action!

Food: Popcorn

Red satin hung over the partly open closet doors, mimicking a stage curtain. Two lamps beamed over the makeshift stage, lightning the darkened room autumn yellow. In the front row stood a long chair, and in that chair sat a teddy bear, staring blankly. In the bear's lap was a box of popcorn.

A little blonde boy wrapped in bedsheets walked under the lights. "Welcome! My name is Bridget and I will be playing an excerpt from Shakespeare's iThe Tempest/i." He bowed, walked off stage, then came back again, this time in character.

"Our revels now are ended. These our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits, and

Are melted into air, into thin air."

Bridget lifted his arm up then lowered it, slowly.

"And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself."

His voice raised at the beginning of each line, falling to whispers the words became graver.

"Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded--"

And then he swiped his arm out, and stepped forward on the stage, looking overhead, over his single audience.

"Leave not a rack behind."

And finally he was barely a whisper, loud enough for the teddy bear to hear

"We are such stuff

As dreams are made on; and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep. "

Quiet, and he backed away slowly, away from the lights, camouflaged in the backstage darkness. When he reemerged he was Bridget again.

"Thank you for your time. I hope you enjoyed my performance." He held his arm across his chest and gave his manliest bow. A smile spread across his lips, thinking that with enough practice, Roger wouldn't be his only audience.


	9. Lottery

Theme: Lottery

Food: Oil

Bounty hunting isn't like so-called "skill" gambling-- it's a lottery, Bridget thinks bemusedly. He grins at the wanted list-- his "lottery ticket"-- and hums, already excited for the winnings.

He meets many of his bounties easily, like every day is his lucky day. He doesn't question that these people are out in the open. He goes about his merry way, inching just a bit closer to proving himself.

Then, in the blink of an eye, all of his hard work is wasted. He looks at his wanted list and finds all the winning numbers were a farce and the money that was in his clutches slips through his fingers like oil.


	10. Sleep

Theme: Sleep

Food: Milk

Exactly one minute after he emits a yawn, a maid is gently nudging his back with her palms. "Time for bed, young lady."

Bridget nods, suddenly too tired to protest being called "young lady." From the corner of his eye he sees the butler pick the book from his brother's lap, then hoist him over his shoulder.

The way upstairs is a blur. On the way to bed, his mother takes the maid's place and closes the door behind them. There, she sets out a pair of blue pajamas. Bridget likes these pajamas-- they're gender neutral-- the closest he can get to masculine clothing. Dressed for bed, he slips under the down covers where Roger is waiting. But before that, there is a glass of milk set out for him on the nightstand. His mother sits in the rocking chair and reads Shakespeare out loud. It's hard to read scripts as bedtime stories, but Bridget insists on the plays. He finishes his milk and lays down, listening to the lines rather than the plot. He goes over each word and picks at the depth and emotion until his consciousness drifts off and the gathered thoughts disperse into dreams.


	11. Flower

Theme: Flower

Food: Vegetables

Bridget smooths the sides of his dress and fluffs the bow on the front of his garment. He turns to the bear reclined on the rocking chair and breathes in with closed eyes. He thinks about what girls do, what they say. Then he runs his maid's words over his head:

_Girls don't play in the mud._

_Girls don't run in the house._

_Girls don't curse._

"Bridget!" his father's gruff, gentle voice calls.

"That's my cue," the young boy says cheerily.

Each movement is carefully orchestrated, from the delicate steps down the stairs to the sweep of his hand, fingertips gliding down the handrail. At the foot of the stairs are party guests, waiting to greet the young mistress of the manor. Immediately he is bathed in an applause of mutters about how beautiful he is, how sweet, how charming, how girlish.

"Like a little doll," he hears an old lady say.

"Hello."

Bridget crosses one leg in front of the other and curtsies. He doesn't need to take his act to the extreme but he wants to be excruciatingly convincing.

Years ago, Bridget would have refused to put on such a girlish charm, preferring to kept to himself near the vegetable hors d'oeuvres (where not many ventured) with his yo-yo. The boy was a far cry from anti-social; his reason for staying secluded at parties was because his acting natural shocked the guests. In a way he was rebelling against his situation. Being restrained in women's garments only worsened his need to prove himself a man.

OooO

"Bridget, something is wrong, isn't it? Don't deny it. I'm your mother."

There wasn't a book in her hands. This would be a long talk. The boy nervously turned away.

"We're not going to bed until you tell me," she pressed gently.

"..."

Bridget lifted his head. "Sometimes I wish I didn't have to dress as a girl."

"I figured as much." The woman had frowned. "I wish you didn't either."

"And now I'm expected to act like a girl." He pouted, rolling his eyes.

His mother's blue eyes had lit up like sapphires, hearing the word _act_.

"Did you know that in Shakespeare's time men played the women's roles?"

"Why?"

"Women weren't allowed on stage. The theater was a man's grounds back then."

She ran a hand through his hair. "We're not asking you to be a girl, but to act like one. You're my little actor, right? I'd like to see your portrayal of a young lady. if you don't mind."

OoO

From then on. each morning he viewed the sun as the curtain rising. At night the curtain fell partially-- almost out of the role but not quite.

The best part about acting was the encore, when you knew the part you played was convincing. But when he left the village, his act off he began to hate the encore- it existed even when he wasn't playing the part.


	12. Exotic

Theme: Exotic

Food: Escargot, Foie Gras

It was pouring hard and the streets were flooded. The sewer system could barely keep up with the surge of rain that had befallen them for the past three days. The city was dim, as if it were evening, though honestly it was afternoon. The citizens carried glum expressions, hoping for positive sunlight.

Bridget, Ky assumed, had probably just reached Paris, France. He had ran int Ky-- literally-- as he skipped in the deeper puddles. He was soaking and all smiles, though most of the people on the streets were scuttling back to shelter as fast as they could.

"I'm sorry sir--" Bridget lifted his head and gasped. "Mister Kiske!"

"Bridget... was it?" Ky hesitated to say the name, afraid to offend if he were wrong.

"Yes. Ah... do you know where I could find a place to eat? I don't mean to be rude but I just came into the city and..." His growling stomach finished his sentence.

Ky chuckled. "So I hear. Hm, the only restaurant nearby is Le Chambre Bleue on Arago Boulevard, but--"

"Okay! Thank you, Mister Kiske!" With a wave, he spun on the balls of is feet and speeded around the corner.

"Ah! Wait! Bridget, it's..."

Ky stopped, the boy was too wrapped up in his hunger (or too far away) to hear him. Ky ran after him around the corner. A few blocks after, Ky found he was too late.

"Just you, sir?" A man greeted him; he had a thin mustache, curled on both ends. He was already reaching for the stack of menus before Ky replied.

"No. I'm meeting a little girl wearing a nun outfit. Is she seated?"

"This way, sir."

The host retrieved one menu and walked, passing couples and parties on the way. They were at the far back of the restaurant, away from most of the chaos, when they stopped. The host set the menu on the table and walked off sullenly. Bridget slowly raised his eyes from the menu he was reading, curious about the shadow falling over him.

"Mister Kiske? Did you want to eat dinner with me?"

"Yes, if you don't mind," Ky half-lied. It wasn't his initial intention, but he saw that the bounty hunter was already comfortable at the table, and he was starving. The restaurant that Ky had had in mind for him was cheaper, but farther away.

Bridget shook his head and Ky pulled out the chair across from him.

"I've always wanted to try French food, but now that I'm here there's so many choices that I can't decide!"

He peered over the menu. "What should I order?"

"Anything that isn't foie gras or escargot. Most foreigners can't stomach even the idea of those dishes."

"Huh? Why's that?"

The waiter arrived before Ky could answer. "Are you ready to order?"

"Actually--" Ky's voice was drowned out by Bridget's high, cheerful request.

"I would like to try the foie gras and escargot, please."

"Soup or salad?"

Bridget's expression went askew over the mention of vegetables. "Soup please."

The waiter turned to an exasperated Ky. "As for you, sir?"

"The chef's choice," Ky said simply. He had seen it advertised on the chalkboard at the entrance.

The waiter scribbled the order down with finesse, then exited through the swinging kitchen doors. Not long after, a bus boy filled their wine glasses with water.

"Are you sure about what you ordered?" Ky warned.

"Of course! Like I said: I want to try French food and what I ordered sounded the most French. So what is foie gras and escargot?"

Ky held his head for a moment before answering, expecting a disastrous reaction as he had heard most foreigners had upon leaning about these dishes.

"Foie gras is from a goose who has been force-fed until it dies. The dish is made from the fattened goose liver."

"That's not weird at all." Bridget frowned. "But... that poor bird."

Ky was not relieved yet. "Escargot is cooked snails."

Bridget was extremely silent.

"If you'd like, we can cancel the order."

He stubbornly shook his head, thought his stomach curdled at the thought of escargot.

"You have to try everything once, right?" He forced a laugh.

A glass and a bottle of wine were set at Ky's right hand and a bowl of soup was set in front of the other blonde. Bridget watched as Ky expertly held the wine glass at a slant and poured the cranberry-hued liquid, filling the clear glass cup to three-fourths. He also watched as Ky lightly swished the wine, moving his hand in a slow, circular motion before taking a sip.

Bridget set his soup spoon down. "Can I try it?"

Ky's eye drew from the young boy to the wine he held in his palm, and back to Bridget again, eyebrows raised. "You're underaged."

"I know, but I just want to know what it tastes like." He clasped his hands together and his eyes seemed to grow bigger, pleading. "Just one sip."

Ky hesitated, then eyed the restaurant. No one seemed to be watching so he caved to the younger one's request. He reached over the table, while Bridget sat up on his knees and leaned forward for a sip. During the short time, Ky watched the room, hoping no one noticed and that if they did, that they wouldn't care. Ky turned back to the boy and chuckled at the disgusted expression he was now wearing.

"It tastes like medicine." Bridget pouted, disappointed. "Well, a lot better than medicine but..."

"I used to think so too once. I guess it's an acquired taste." He took a sip of said wine. "Are you still bounty hunting?"

"Mmmhmm. I think I'm close to proving myself."

Ky inwardly sighed. It was a shame someone so young was risking her life-- and the very fact that her parents let her wander off on her own--

"The sum I left you wasn't enough?" His eyes locked on the young boy, who averted his eyes and toyed with the hem of his dress anxiously.

"No Ky, it was more than enough. I guess I'm scared that even that amount won't convince the village I'm not bad luck."

"Bridget, I gave you that money because I don't like the idea of a young lady putting her life in danger. I'm not saying you can't be a bounty hunter... just you should wait until you're older." Ky's eyes lowered. "You're only a child once."

"Thank you, Mister Kiske, but... I have to do this now or no one else will."

"Do what?" Ky refrained from shouting-- barely.

"In my village, twins of the same gender are considered bad luck. Ah... you see... I'm actually a boy."

He paused and briefly raised his gaze. He felt unrelieved that Ky was quiet.

"My parents disquised me as a girl so my brother and I could both live."

"So the reason you took up bounty hunting is to disprove the superstition."

"Yes."

They stared at one another, unsure of what to say next. They were both at ease when dinner was set in front of them. It changed the subject hanging heavily on their minds. Bridget dared not to look at the escargot just yet. and dug into the foie gras. Ky quietly ate his steak and duchess potato, glancing at the boy in-between bites. He wondered if Bridget would eat the escargot, and he wondered what he could do to help him in his situation.

Bridget finally came to the escargot, tapping the long snail fork on the edge of the table. He stabbed one of the mollusked morsals but before it reached his mouth, he stopped and pushed the plate away. Ky silently took the dish and ate it for him. He didn't understand why the food was so disturbing that Bridget couldn't bear to even watch him eat it. For once he felt the gap of culture between him and the boy.

"Would you like dessert?" the waiter inquired, picking up empty dishes. "Tonight we are serving creme brule, an apple tart, chocolate soufflé, and pate a choux swans."

"The cook used to make use breakfast soufflés... I already know what those are like... I'd like the swans, please," Bridget said.

The waiter turned to Ky, who raised a hand in polite refusal.

"Then I will bring the bill with the dessert."

The man gave the vaguest of smiles, the kind that seemed forced but held a sense of warmth. Many waiters and waitresses carried this sort of expression, Ky noticed. Even Jam used it on occasion.

"Bridget, if your village persists in the superstition despite your efforts, know that you have a place here in France."

It was the best he could do for the boy. Nothing was going to budge Bridget.

"That's very sweet of you but there is no need for that. Everything will be all right because I'm giving it my all... and because God is watching over me."

Ky's frown remained, he found that for once in his life he wasn't relieved even with the idea of God overlooking someone. Ky didn't want God to watch over Bridget, Ky himself wanted to be there for the boy.

"Pata a choux swans," the waiter announced.

A plate with two swans sitting on a lake made of crystallized sugar, tinted blue, was set in front of the blonde. The waiter left the bill in the middle of the table. Both hands reached for the slip of paper.

"Allow me," Ky said, but the petite hand snatched the bill from under his palm. Bridget reached under his collar and drew out a small coin purse. Attached was a gold cross glittering under the restaurant lights. He eyed the bill as he rummaged through his coin purse. He counted the wad of cash and then stopped. His lips thinned.

"It's my treat, okay?" Ky reached again.

"I'm sorry. I'm so used to my dad taking care of money that I never realized how much things can cost." He silently ate his dessert, impressed by the taste, but the aftertaste was guilt, for having to ask Ky to pay for the food that filled his mouth.

"Don't worry about the bill," Ky said outside the restaurant. "It was nice having dinner with you."

Bridget shook the gloomy air inside him and forced a smile.

"Then..." he pressed a finger to his lips thoughtfully, "next time I'll treat you to lunch-- or dinner."

Bridget held both hands behind his back. "Thank you very much for dinner..."

Ky opened his mouth to reply, but Bridget continued.

"And Ky? Someday I'm going to grow up to be just like you."

The man blushed, both modest and shocked. "What are you saying that all of a sudden?"

"Because it's the truth." The bounty hunter winked and waved farewell.

Mid wave Ky looked at his hand, it had stopped raining moments ago yet he hadn't noticed it. He turned towards his office then back again, realizing it wasn't safe for a kid to be out late at night.


	13. Colors

Theme: Colors

Food: Rice

He feels an ache in his throat and in his being as he utters girlish phrases. They're no longer forced and it pains him that now he doesn't need to act. He tries to mimic a man's lazy, heavy amble but in time his imitation shifts to light skips home.

"How are you?" His mother or some person asks. He smiles warmly, holding back his feelings. In the back of his mind he congratulates himself for that- he's heard many a woman complain that men hold everything in.

But he isn't an ordinary male who holds just his feelings in, he hides the truth, his words, his thoughts. He feels he contains everything that is really him to the brim. So much that his nightmares are like wishes in which a crowd of people surround his naked form as his wounds burst like a bag of rice and spill -not blood- color.

X

A/N: A sort of play on the phrase: "showing your true colors".


	14. Stay by my side

Theme: Stay by my side

Food: Nuts

Of all places, Bridget never expected to find his brother in the streets. He was wavering, drenched (even though it hadn't rained), and heavy with the smell of alcohol and beer nuts. Then again, there wasn't a doubt that his brother had changed. It had been five years since they last met. Bridget was a different person now than he had been when he was thirteen.

He was wearing trousers and a striped blue shirt and suspenders, and a white trenchcoat atop it all. When friends asked him if he had any pictures of himself as a kid, he would whip out the photos from a past that felt like yesterday. People who saw the pictures would gape, looking from him then to him now.

"Are you all right?"

He leaned forward, tapping his brother.

"I'm not drunk!" the man shouted in his ear. Bridget jumped back, holding his ears, then half-smiled. He hefted his brother over his shoulder and almost teetered over from the dead weight. Balance regained, he signaled for a cab.

A yellow car pulled over, driven by a man who looked like an ex-construction worker. He raised his chin up in a quick motion, as if to tell them to get in.

Bridget opened the door and carefully slid his brother inside, who only made things more troublesome by rolling over sloppily and taking half of the backseat. Bridget did his best to squeeze in and closed the door.

"Where to?" The cab driver asked.

"The city outskirts-- by the village." The car started off, rocking Bridget and his brother like a cradle.

"Who're you?" the drunken man said.

It took awhile for Bridget to answer, attempting to translate the drunken words.

"My name... is Bri-- Brandon."

He smiled. It had been a few years since his childhood name came to the tip of his tongue. The nostalgia of being with his brother was getting to him already.

"Alex," the drunk announced.

"What were you doing out there?"

"Lookin' for a woman... before I get married."

Bridget forced a smile. As he had discovered, men sleeping with other women-- or prostitutes-- for the sake of being sexually experienced wasn't uncommon. It was something he had caved into doing himself in hopes of becoming manlier.

"An arranged marriage?"

"Bin... -burp- ...bingo. So what's your story?"

"Pardon me?" Bridget raised his brows.

"You look like you have something underneath you-- like onions... layers."

"You're really drunk," the younger twin said and laughed. He was unimpressed with his brother's behavior but that didn't mean that it wasn't absurdly amusing at the same time.

"Okay. I come from a village where twins of the same gender are considered bad luck--"

"So do I!" the other interrupted. "It's a good thing though-- my twin was a girl."

"Really? Well, I wasn't so lucky. My twin is a boy so my parents raised me as a girl."

"That reeeeeally sucks."

"Hmm, I suppose. When I became twelve I decided to be a bounty hunter and make tons of cash so I could disprove the superstition and maybe... prove my manliness. But as I got older, I was afraid to reveal myself. I guess it's true-- the older you get, the more afraid you become of even the simplest things."

"So you never came back home?"

"I did, but then I left again to bounty hunt again-- this was before I started to question revealing myself. In the middle of my journey, a woman scouted me for modeling. I told her I was really a boy..." At this point Bridget smirked. "But she didn't care. It wasn't long after I started modeling that I got my chance to live my dream-- acting. I felt proud of myself for accomplishing that goal but then I got older and no one wanted to cast me anymore. Turns out I was stuck in the "little boy" or "little girl" roles and people couldn't see me any other way."

"Go on. I know I'm not drunk but I'm listening."

"Don't you mean: 'I know iI am/i drunk but I'm listening'?"

"Same difference... Whatever. Keep telling me your story."

"I tried to prove I was manly-- I started sleeping around because it seemed like the macho thing to do and I smoked a bit... and I even grew a beard for awhile. I didn't keep that one long though-- I felt unsanitary with it. So now I'm a guy who couldn't fulfill his dream... to be masculine." The words were lined with humor and disappointment. "Tell me, what is your sister like?"

Alex gave a toothy grin. "She was really sweet and unlike any girl I have ever known. Even though she was a girl and I was a boy, we understood each other-- I guess that's what comes with being a twin, right?"

Bridget nodded. "Seems like it."

"And then she left to go bounty hunting. I have no idea why. She left a note politely apologizing for leaving without warning and said she promised to come back soon. When she did come back, I didn't care about that bag full of money. The best gift she gave me and our family was relief. We hoped she wouldn't run off again and eventually believed she wouldn't, but five months after she returned I caught her climbing out of the window. When I ran after her, she let go of the makeshift rope and sped off."

"You sound more sober when you tell stories." Bridget noted.

"Eh... guess... yeah... maybe."

"Where is your sister now?" he asked, though he knew the answer. Bridget wanted hear Alex talk about him. It brought back memories.

"I wish I knew. I know one thing is, she's not dead. That's another thing with twins I think... they just iknow/i... vaguely about how the other is doing. Right now I think she's kind of somber... like she failed at something she was sure she could do. I wish I could be there for her-- wait... that's a lie."

Bridget's eyes widened in surprise and curiosity.

"More than anything I want her to be there for ime/i. That's selfish but who cares... I need her." Alex curled up in the little space they had and wrapped his arms around Bridget's leg like a child,. His expression was needy and made Bridget think, for one moment that they were not eighteen. That they were not in a cab with a driver possibly eavesdropping. It felt like that night Bridget came home after nearly a year. That night, he was heading for his room but nearly tripped, his leg locked in Alex's embrace. His other half was staring up at him desperately. "Can you sleep with me?" he asked, his large eyes showing his meaning: "Don't leave me again."

"She'll be back."

"You sure?" Alex raised his head.

"Yup." Alex's head slowly lowered and he fell asleep like that, using his brother's shoes as a pillow.


	15. Pendant

Theme: Pendant

Food: Fish and Chips

"Still sleeping?!" Alex exclaimed, exasperated.

"The young lady has been on a long journey. It's not a surprise." The maid said softly, not wanting to wake Bridget any more than her brother likely did. "Young master, it would be best if you let her rest."

His lip curled, annoyed, and he busted past the maid and stumbled into the room where his twin was, surprisingly, wide awake. Bridget smiled bashfully.

"It's been awhile since I've slept on a nice bed so... I overslept? Sorry, Alex."

Alex scratched the back of his head, now flustered by his spontaneous actions. "That's all right. I just need to talk to you. Do you want to grab some fish n' chips?"

Bridget's stomach growled approval.

The whole way to the stand, Alex was quiet. Though Bridget could tell there was something on his mind, he didn't press. In his quest to become more manly, and his self-taught lessons on how to act girly, Bridget noticed that girls talked about their problems as soon as possible and that wherever they were going they were constantly talking. Boys seemed to keep things in the back of their mind for later and didn't need to talk with their friends constantly, preferring to use body language and keeping talk for less important things. It was like there was a bond that didn't need words to be acknowledged.

Bridget didn't need to wait any longer to find out what his brother had to say. The scent of fried fish and the faint smell of ink and fresh paper wafted towards them. They were happy to see that they had beaten the crowd today-- noon was rush hour.

"Two fish n' chips," Alex ordered.

The bushy-browed man at the stand nodded and exchanged the food wrapped in newspaper for money. One huge eyebrow raised, recognizing the person behind Alex. "Bridget! Long time no see. Where ya been? We were all so worried."

"Hey, mister..." Bridget paused; he could never remember this man's name. "...Mister Fish 'N Chips Guy. It's a long story."

The man howled with laughter, tickled by the nickname Bridget had given him. "Well, I see you're hungry so I'll let ya go. You'll have to tell me this 'long story' someday."

"I will. Thank you, mister."

Alex hurriedly pulled Bridget away, he didn't want anyone else in the village to deter them with "long time no see's."

They rested under the oak tree by the pond. Alex watched the dragonflies lazily hover over the water. "Bridget, that will be the last time you run off, right?"

The younger twin swallowed his food. "I can't answer that."

"I demand you answer me."

"No."

Alex roughly set his food aside and turned to Bridget. "Stop being stubborn. We were all worried about you."

"I know." A frown temporarily struck Bridget's lips. "I was worried at first too."

He reached into the front of his dress and pulled out a cross. "But I put my trust in God. As soon as I did, I wasn't worried. I felt more confident in my goals."

"I don't know if I could do the same." Alex's mood softened.

"Don't worry about if you can, but if you can't-- try, for me," Bridget's said, eyes averted. "I can't tell you what I'm planning but please, don't get in my way."

"You can't expect me to do that."

"I don't." Bridget shrugged.

"Fine then." Alex huffed. "Then I shall do whatever possible to keep you from running off."

"And in the likely chance that I do succeed, you'll have to put your trust in God." Bridget winked.

Alex opened his mouth but before he could retort Bridget interrupted. "See, I'm not the only stubborn one."


	16. Fireworks

Theme: Fireworks

Food: Burgers and fries

The first time he watched fireworks was with the Jellyfish. Johnny's arm wrapped around his shoulder, non the wiser of his gender while May shot jealous glances. Burgers sizzled on the grill as Dizzy and April fumbled to watch the show without burning their dinner. The fries were left out, already too cold and soggy to enjoy eating.

Later that night Bridget has nightmares that their airship runs into a firework show. He shrinks away from the ambers raining down, putting holes in the ship. In the midst of his fear he can't help but notice that fireworks are more breathtaking up close.


	17. Dormant

A/N: I've actually had this written up for months but forgot to post it. Ahaha. Warning for character death.

Theme: Dormant

Food: Organs

The air was still and tense with contemplative thoughts. The two parents eyed their child, stern but worried. The mother closed her eyes and sipped her tea, the father rubbed his brow. Bridget sat rigid, hands in his lap, sitting across from them. He fretted that they would deny his request, and though he sympathized, he tired of hiding. And they knew just as well as he did that they couldn't keep the veil over the village's eyes forever, yet they clung to the facade, afraid for his well being.

"Dear, you dont't need to reveal yourself. If you want to live as a man you could do so outside the village." His mother suggested. The china clinked as she set her cup down.

"This isn't just about that. I don't want others to go through what I have-not that it made my life hard or anything." Bridget quickly said, careful not to make his parents feel worse. ". . . I just worry that others couldn't take it as well as I have."

"You do know the consequences." His father threatened, though he knew the boy would not relinquish his decision.

"If I'm to be a man, I have to face things dead on and take responsibility. That is what my journey taught me." The teenager said firmly. "Please, let me take responsibility."

The mother and father turned to each other. "We'll think about it for now." The father slightly nodded. "You are excused."

"Thank you." Bridget said politely, forcing back his dissatisfaction, then left the study.

"Did mom and dad talk you out of bounty hunting finally?" His brother greeted from behind his book. He was sitting on a black vinyl chair near the autumn glow of the lamp.

"That isn't what we talked about. . ." Bridget half smiled. "Hopefully they won't have to try talking me out of bounty hunting again."

"So what did mom and dad say. . . " Alex paused, and added a touch of etiquette. "If you don't mind my asking."

Bridget breezed past his twin and nonchalantly sang out his reply: "It's a secret."

"I can keep a secret!" Alex claimed but Bridget held his tongue, hoping he wouldn't have to for long.

Days passed quickly, though oddly it felt slow at the same time. The pace of time came in intervals. Mornings were fast, noons were slow and hazy, and nights flew by quikly. Sometimes that routine changed too.

Bridget didn't remember most of what he did to pass the time, mostly he caught himself watching his parents eagerly, both anticipating and demanding an answer.

Otherwise he spent his time with his brother, primarily in the private pool. "I never thought about it before but for being a reckless girl you cover up a lot." Alex discovered one day in mid July. He raised a brow at the so called swimsuit, which consisted of a loose indigo tank top and frilly bloomers.

Bridget shrugged and floated on his back through the waters, leaving his brother to further question the subject.

"Though that nun outfit you made yourself showed a bit." Alex mumbled, eyes crossed and turning red with shame. "I'm surprised dad didn't burn it. . . all they did was confiscate it with her toys and that teddy bear. . ." Realizing where his train of though was veering, Alex cleared his throat and diverted his attention. "I'll be back."

As soon as he stepped back inside, a maid passed by him. "Excuse me."

She twirled on her toes, an amazing feet with the laundry stacked high in her arms. "Yes, young master?"

"Could you fetch us a pitcher of lemonade?"

"Right away." She nodded and skittered off.

Alex went back outside and jumped into the pool. When he rose for air he wiped his eyes and looked around, realizing Bridget was absent. "Where could she have run off to?" He whispered, then shrugged it off.

OOo

Drops of water darkened the red carpet, coming from long blonde strands of hair. A towel was wrapped around his form but after dragging himself from the pool it didn't help much to prevent the chair cushion was becoming soaked.

"We said we would talk tonight. There was no need for you to drop everything." His mother said bewildered.

Bridget laughed, realizing how rash he was being and curled his toes, slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry. . ." He straightened, eyes wide and ready. "So. Now that I'm here. . ."

"This. . . revealing yourself." His father said uneasily. "Are you sure about your decision.?" He leaned forward, mustache brushing against his folded hands. "Please think about this very carefully."

"I already have."

"You say you're prepared for the responsibility, are you aware of what could happen to your mother and I, as well as your brother?"

Bridget nodded smiling. "Mmmhm! I have it all planned out. You, mother, and Alex will go on holiday and I'll stay behind."

The parent's brows raised, impressed. It didn't last long though. "Very good. But if the villagers don't take it well you will be on your own."

"Don't worry." Bridget beamed. "I was a bounty hunter, remember? I can take care of myself."

oOo

"Where have you been?" Alex asked when Bridget returned. The older twin was laying down boredly by the pool, his feet wading in the warm waters. The younger of the two approached him, looking down at him quietly, his lips were scary thin and his expression blank. Moments ago he was cheery but when his parents told him that the first person to hear the "news" was his brother, Bridget froze. Although lying to an entire populous was a huge ordeal, somehow, lying to his brother since they were born felt more momentous than that. Alex knew him best- or at least Alex thought he knew his "sister" very well.

"What's wrong?" He blinked up at the somber boy.

"May I speak with you?" Blue eyes searched the pool area, settling on the little shack where the pool equipment was kept. He pointed towards there and Alex sat up and quietly followed.

The door closed behind them, Bridget breathed in deeply, gathering his courage. "I'm a guy." He admitted quickly.

Alex stared blankly at him.

"I'm a guy." Bridget said again, this time more confidently.

A sigh. "Sister, I know you look up to me and try to act manly and all but. . . it will take more than acting to make you a man."

"I'm not saying I feel like a boy. . . I . . ." Bridget's eyes wandered in all directions, batting at the subject. It was one thing to say it, another to convince the person. "I'm physically a boy."

"That's not possible. If you were you would be dead."

"Not if I was disguised as a girl." Bridget looked at his lower region and flushed. "If you need proof. . ." He began to pull his bloomers down but made the mistake of looking up at his gaping brother.

"D-don't look!" Bridget stuttered, then shook his head. Modesty was a habit he had picked up from acting like a girl. "I mean. . ." He turned away as his bunched up bloomers rested around his ankles.

"No way." Alex took a few step back, then wrenched his head away from the sight. "This isn't real. Mum and dad would never keep this a secret from me. Pardon the cliché but this is a dream."

"It's not." Bridget pulled his bloomers back up and walked towards him, reaching a hand out in comfort. Alex shuddered away, shivering from the shock. Bridget stared bewildered and slowly retracted his hand, holding his palm over his pummeling chest. "I'm sorry."

"Get out."

The younger twin grew numb.

"I said get out!" Alex shouted.

"I'm sorry. . ." Bridget repeated, eyes grazing over the wooden floor. "I never wanted this either."

"Get out." Alex muttered, then repeated his words, this time screaming. "Didn't you hear me? Leave me alone!"

"I-" He withdrew solemnly. He felt terrible for leaving him behind with his mind in a mess but how could he be there for someone who refused him.

OOo

The next morning Alex was calm and welcomed his brother with a smile but that did nothing to alleviate Bridget's worries. "It wasn't a dream." The ex bounty hunter had said curtly, sitting down at the table.

The following week felt between them felt uneasy. They could feel the other wanting to reach out yet, scared to. One who was afraid of rejection, sure that he already was, the other afraid to accept this truth. Bridget was sure that Alex felt like half of his life was a lie.

They hadn't spoken a word to each other during that whole week and when Alex was told the news that the family was going on holiday he spoke of no qualms nor did he cheer (as he normally did). Even the servants felt something was aloof and had attempted several times to bring the two twins together, only to have them both feel wrecked with the torrent of their emotions again.

It wasn't until the day of the family's (save for Bridget) departure. Alex had reached the door of the mansion, then looked outside, then back inside quizzically. "Where is Bridget?"

"Bridget will not be joining us." The father said.

"What?" The older twin gaped, then quickly registering what was afoot he scowled. "Sh- He can't be thinking. . ."

Before the boy could run off to drag his twin, the father took him by the arm and dragged him to the car.

OOo

"Well, how do I look, mum?"

She tugged and patted the crosshatched trousers, testing the fit. Then, noticing aone of his socks was drooped around his ankle she rolled it back over his legs. "There we go." She said, putting the finishing touches on the yellow bow around his shirt collar. She looked up broadly, blue eyes smiling, then breaking into tears at the sight. The woman was a mix of emotions. Pride and grief filled her to the brim interchangeably.

"Don't cry, mum." Bridget patted the top of her head.

"If you hair was a little shorter you would be the spitting image of your brother. . ." She commented and twined a finger around the long strands. And suddenly she pulled him in her arms, his face against the comfort of her bosom. He closed his eyes and returned the affection. At a time like this she needed him.

"Please, won't you go on holiday with us?"

"I'm sorry. You should know I already made up my mind."

"I know, dear. But I. . .don't want. . ." She stopped herself, she didn't want to imagine the consequences.

"I'll be fine." Bridget comforted, though he knew she wouldn't worry less, she needed to hear _something_.

The woman stood up, "come with me."

He followed her out of his room and down the hallway. He had passed through the halls numerous times but he still felt compelled to look at the familly portraits, many of which were old men long past. At the end of the hall was the most recent painting, depicting his father majesticly riding a white steed. People commented that Bridget and Alex had their father's looks and their mother's eyes. Bridget liked to imagine that he would look as manly as his father did in the painting someday, and would even imagine it was his image rather than his father's.

His mother pull a silver key from her sleeve and signaled for her son to wait. As soon as she unlocked the door she flipped the lights on and went inside, returning in a matter of seconds with two yo yo's and Roger in her arms. Bridget looked at his weapons, suddenly the somber air felt tense. He understood why his mother gave the toys back to him. His mother silently walked around him, then hurried downstairs. Not long after he head the car engine roar and the sound of gravel crunching under wheels.

OOo

Bridget waited until the next day to set his plan in motion. He gracefully dodged the servant's curiosity as to why he didn't go on vacation with the family, simply replying that he had enough adventure after bounty hunting. They grew more suspicious when they realized he was dressed in Alex' s garments but didn't say a word, wary of answer. Over the years they had grown fond of the "young miss".

Promptly after breakfast, Bridget checked himself out in front of the mirror again and tucked his yo yos in his pockets.

"I'm going out!" He called from the doorway, then closed the door behind him. Once away from his father's estate he briefly watched the villagers going to and fro on errands or play. They directed waves and smiles to the boy, still oblivious.

He wandered past houses, the merchant stands, and then the farm houses and barn yards. The aroma of clay with a touch of hay from the farm yards a way surrounded his senses, and already felt at peace before he leaned against the fence. He stared over the expanse of the river. He didn't think; about his suddenly strained relationship with his twin, the village, his life, or bounty hunting. He simply let go of it all and held onto the feeling until he noticed something blazing in the corner of his eye.

He jerked and turned around but he found nothing but green trees in the distance. The wind blew rougher, almost ominously. Another flicker drew his gaze up again but just as before he saw nothing but flora.

"Ah! How long have I been standing around. . ." Bridget fumbled for the pocket watch then sighed, the hands on the face of the clock pointed to eleven. There was still enough time for him to make it to the main building- where the village held meetings every three moths at exactly eleven fifteen. Afterwards they would all go eat lunch, then resume their business.

On the walk to the main building, Bridget began to wonder if anyone noticed his attire. He looked at his pants and twisted his lips. It wouldn't surprise him if everyone had assumed he was Alex.

OOo

"I'm a guy." He practiced his lines under his breath as he headed towards the double doors. The doors were medium in length but at that moment they loomed over Bridget. Beofer, when he told his parents he could do this he was light and confident, now he didn't know what to feel. Still, this was nothing compared to when he confessed to his brother.

Heads turned as he made his way to the end of the room, interrupting the man on the podium. Slowly, Bridget turned to the villagers- his audience and directed his gaze towards but upwards, so he could only see the top of their heads, unaware of facial expression. "Excuse me. I apologize for interrupting. . ."

"Is that Alex?"

"What is he doing here. I thought he went on holiday ith his family-"

"Really? Without their son?!"

The young boy heard but bit back the urge to listen and continued. "I have something of great improtance to tell you."

"That voice-"

"It's too soft to be Alex's-"

"Myself and my family has kept something back all these years."

"Bridget. . ."

"It couldn't be-"

"But it is her-"

". . .I'm a guy." The last sentence dropped and all conversation dissipated. Bridget hesitantly chose to break the silence. "I'm sorry. It's okay, right? I earned all that money from bounty hunting-"

One of the men stood from his seats, his steps towards Bridget were lengthy and as heavy as the stare he gave. He came to a halt when confronted with the point of a saber.

"Alex, I think that's hardly necessary."

Bridget looked from his brother's backside to his parents standing beside the older twin.

"It might get necessary." Alex quipped in a whisper.

Aside from Alex, Bridget's father also carried a weapon, a silver gun that he held behind his back. He brushed his thumb along the barrel.

"You didn't have to do this." Bridget held his hands behind his back and fiddled with his fingers nervously. He felt relieved to have his family with him but the childish side of him was aggravated and embarrassed.

More citizens stood from their seats, only to topple over as the ground suddenly shook. The rafters shuddered and doused them all with a collection of dust.

"An earthquake?" An old lady piped up.

A scream directed everyone's gaze to a woman backing away from the window.

"A monster!" Someone else exclaimed and pointed. The image of a large porcupine tail shown through the window sent others screaming and fluttering about for escape like a flock of birds. The curse of same sexed twins was far from their worries but no doubt they began to blame whatever creature befell them on the curse.

Whatever was outside tore a hold through the building, people poured out of the doorway at the sight, and some vomited hearing the crunch of bones and seeing the red tracks the creature left.

"What the. . ." Bridget's father said.

"Hurry! Get out of here!" Bridget whipped out a yo yo and broke the glass of a window. Their mother grabbed both him and Alex through while the father followed from behind, walking backwards, refusing to expose his backside to the beast.

Just as they reached outside a figure in white landed in front of them, prompting a gunshot from Bridget's father.

"Mister Kiske!" Bridget worried looked at the bullet hold in the fence and the stray blonde hair it took off. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. More importantly, you're not hurt are you?"

"We're fine but. . ." Bridget wearily turned to the partially demolished building they had just escaped out of.

Ky nodded understandably. "It's not safe here, as you know-"

"What was that thing?!" Alex interrupted.

"A gear I was fighting. . . it decided to use this village as an advantage. I cannot stress enough that you all evacuate."

"Mum, father, Alex. Please do as Mister Kiske says." Bridget walked to Ky's side and whirled on his toes. "I'll stay and help him."

"No!" His mother screamed and Bridget backed away to hide behind Ky.

"Bridget, don't do this. It's not your fault this happened."

"Even so, I have to prove myself."

Ky shook his head, "don't disobey your parents."

"I'm afraid I will be a horrible son." The ex bounty hunter dimpled then entered the fray.

"Bridget!" His mother yelled, while the father began to chase after him. Ky took the older man by the shoulder, "I'll protect her- him. Take your family to safety."

"But. . ."

"What's worse? Your son in danger or your entire family?"

The other man reluctantly returned to his wife and child, "I'm counting on you."

Ky nodded and turned back to the battlefield. He felt relieved there were less citizens around. The gear roared and shook the ground, trying to brush Bridget off it and break loose from the strings around it's neck.

Ky hurled a chard of lightning as he ran towards the two. He was sure that with the gear distracted by Bridget it would hit dead on but as he neared the scene he spat out a word that was quick and hurried- said like a curse but not an actual obscenity.

His attacked had been dodged and Bridget, unawares fell into the blaze of lightning. It made the older man's heart sink to hear the young boy choke mid scream. He quickly lunged over to catch his fall. Minutes after his retrieval, the boy squirmed, asking to be set down. Ky complied, propping him against a tree. Bridget wobbled under his own weight and twitched his body still tingling with the electric charge. He immediately came to his senses noting that something was flung towards them. Just as he was about to dodge and drag Ky with him, Ky pulled him closed and rolled away. The tree Bridget previously leaned on split in two and fell over rows of houses.

"Thank you but. . ." Bridget twisted from Ky and brushed the dust from his arms. "Concentrate on the gear. If you worry about me it will only hinder us."

"If you're worried about that, then maybe you should run off as well." Ky advised, and raised his sword readily.

Bridget assumed a battle stance as well, "No thank you. I said I was going to help out, Mister Kiske."

Before the policeman could voice his qualms the boy was at it again, no sooner than that Ky saw Bridget run past him again- or at least he thought it was Bridget. Ky doubled back, it wasn't until he saw a flash of steel did he realize it was Bridget's hasty twin.

"I should have known he would be stubborn too." Ky shook his head. He had no choice but to let the twin s work with him. As evidenced by the incident earlier there wasn't time to "babysit". Ky's anxiety over the two waned as the battle progressed smoothly. Two against one wasn't fair before, now three against one was just plain cruel.

The gear's movement gradually slowed but in turn it's strikes shook with greater intensity. Alex grinned, "almost finished."

"But we're not done yet." Ky reminded.

The child shrugged his shoulder, shooting Ky a look of contempt before carrying on.

"Ah! Mister Kiske." Bridget pointed to an opening.

Ky nodded and swooped into the shrubbery, undetected. The man didn't have to tell the ex-bounty hunter to help Alex continue deterring the gear's attention.

Bridget's hurried steps settled and he looked up, blue eyes large. "It stopped. . ." He turned back to where Ky was- his heart pummeled hard against his chest, and his head throbbed slightly, realizing with panic that the gear was issuing an ultimatum- using what energy it had left on the only target in it's path.

"Alex!" Bridget cried, but the eldest was too wrapped up in winning.

Bridget shook. It was the first time the thought of loosing someone important crossed his mind. He never understood his family's worries about him going out bounty hunting until now. His mind was going three hundred and sixty degrees- of Alex dying because of him, and further of the void. He had always felt like his own person, yet also a set of a person. It felt wrong to be without the other.

At that he snapped, lunging forward to embrace the oldest protectively, his back to the illuminating spear. Before Alex could fathom what was happening, the spear ripped through Bridget's abdomen, the point pricked Alex's shirt, nothing more.

In disbelief he saw blood foaming from Bridget's lips.

"Are you all right?" Bridget whispered.

"Y-yeah but-"

The blues of his eyes glazed and like butterfly wings his lashes fluttered until his eyes closed and body hung limp.

"Bridget?" Alex whispered, then chuckled. Like tears can come from happiness he laughed in his agony. Bridget wasn't moving, he saw this but couldn't take it just as he couldn't believe Bridget was a boy he couldn't, didn't want to accept that he just died. Alex closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. He had had dreams that felt so real he could have sworn he had turned to goo and fed flying cats, but the weight in his gut and the organs slipping against his belly proved this was no illusion.

"God, I wish it was. . ." He stuttered, and teared up. The laughter had passed, silence invaded him.

He didn't heard the gear groan and topple over in defeat, nor Ky's approach.

"No. . ." He didn't hear Ky say.

He couldn't see, smell, or even taste anything that wasn't his deceased brother. He passed out like that, feeling everything he didn't want to.

OOo

The numbness emanating his insides worsened at the funeral. It was closed casket, but the fact that his body was there kept Alex rooted to the back of the room. He stared off as people gave their condolences, watching and hating the villagers. If they weren't so superstitious Bridget wouldn't have been unreasonably obstinate to fight. He concentrated on this anger towards them, rather than himself.

On the way out of the funeral home, waiting for the casket to be led out, he overheard two women chattering. It was the first sound he had heard in two weeks, and the most unpleasant since the incident.

"Just like it says. . . bad luck."

"He was meant to die anyways. His parents should have done it long ago."

"Would have done our village good. Look at what happened!"

"And all those who died from that . . . thing. Well, rather from that curse the twins brought on."

Alex glared, fists shaking, ready to whollap the gossips' mouths. "My brother wasn't bad luck! He didn't die from it neither! He died to save me. . . it was his own choice. Not some dumb superstition!"

"I never-"

"Shut up! Get the hell away from this church if you're not going to respect him. Before I kill you."

"That's enough." Alex jumped, he had expected those words from his father. Looking up he saw eyes as blue as his own.

"Ky. . . right?" He said unsteadily, remembering his brother addressing the man as such.

The man nodded, then looked around at the villagers furrowing their brows at the fuming youth. "I asked your parents about a change of scenery. . ."

"Dad isn't mad at you for not going by your word?"

Ky looked away, ashamed. "He said it wasn't my fault that Bridget. . . He knows I tried my best."

Alex spat, still staring at the ladies who belittled Bridget's existance. "You're right, I could use a change of scenery. I can't stand to look at these old bats."

The next day, as Alex and Ky walked from the outskirts of the village Ky talked about the gears in length to the point of when he sealed Justice and stagnated the gear's activity.

"But. . . just six months ago they started up again. I can only assume the seal I put on her has broken. I've been searching since, to put a stop to it once again."

"If you need help-"

Ky held a hand up to silence him. "Please do not think of revenge. Not all gears are evil. . ." He smiled faintly, nostalgically, "I know a woman- half gear. She has a kind voice. She would break into tears if she killed a fly."

Alex raised an eye brow skeptically.

"Maybe on our way we'll give her a visit." Ky said. Little by little, Ky thought, the boy would learn just as he did that not everything is black and white, and that with pain comes inner strength.

OoO

"Daddy!" A pair of brunettes bounced towards a twenty seven year old Alex. He had been sitting near the fountain, staring at the statue of his brother longingly. Years ago when he returned to the village he started construction on the statue. Some villagers, still superstitious scowled at his plans and said, "why bother?"

Alex had replied: "because I can."

His relationship with his peers only worsened when his wife gave birth to twin girls. Instead of hiding them as his parents had done, he proudly proclaimed his love for his identical daughters. Again, the villagers growled low in their throats with curses and scorn. Alex simply laughed, "two little girls can't possibly bring discord."

Surprisingly, the girls, nor Alex never faced murder attempts. The villagers were still annoyed but more lax since Bridget. It just took some time to let go of the thinking that was embedded.

All superstition dissipated in the village as the girls grew. The villagers were tickled by how helpful Emma was, and amused by the music Bridget weaved under piano keys.

"Staring at that statue again, dad? You're so vain!" Emma laughed. Alex hadn't told the girls the story behind the statue and they had assumed that it depicted himself.

"Yeah." Alex turned to the girls and took their hands, smiling. "I'm late for dinner again, right?"

"Late as ever." Bridget huffed.

The two girls led him back home, laughing and teasing their father. Alex glanced behind, at the statue again. "Thank you."


	18. Jazz

Theme: Jazz

Food: Chocolate

The night is innocent, the jazz club is sin. He can see in the smoke-fogged air: hands exploring, a woman's foot wrapped around her lover's ankle under the table. He can smell libido pumping quietly in the smooth as silk atmosphere.

He waits tables through the night. Some slip their numbers amongst his tips. He runs them over his thumb and bites his lip, wondering if they know that underneath the makeup and woman's waitress uniform is a young man. Some nights he plays around and dresses like his true gender, but the inquiry for his body is the same.

A customer grabs his wrist as he sets a grasshopper cocktail in front of him. Too obviously he slips him a wad of bills, on top of which is a note. He smiles and takes it; later, he reads it in a bathroom stall. The writer promises twice what he'd given him already if he meets him an hour after the club closes.

The night is naïve, but outside the jazz club he is sweating in its sin, back against the brick and lifted up by strong hands. He can taste the chocolate liquor on the person's tongue, dark and tart. He can feel himself being burned from the inside out, shattering on the pavement.

Whatever pays the bills, right?


	19. Zest

Theme: Zest

Food: Soup

Bridget didn't like playing with boys other than his brother. They teased and underestimated him. They treated him like a girl.

"Girls are stupid!" he recalled them snickering at him. He wished that if he could only prove them wrong without making a spectacle of himself. He wasn't a girl, and he wasn't stupid either. Most importantly, he wasn't a girl.

He heard boys yell the same insult to real girls and saw them kick soupy mud on their dresses. The only reason why they never committed the latter offense towards him was because his brother was a force to be reckoned with. Not to mention how much of a scolding the bullies would get from their parents, hearing they were harrassing Bridget. His father was a very important man to the village.

The quips and mischief... it was no wonder when, twelve years old and finally free of the village, he whispers, speaks, and finally exclaims, "I'm a guy! I'm a guy! I'm a guy!"

He laughs, tearing up, his stomach is in knots. "I'm a..."

He can't help but laugh gleefully. The freedom gives him hope for the day that he can play with boys other than his brother.


End file.
